Running from the Deity

by Alan Dean Foster

  Flinx could, and did. “Everyone else seems to be fine,” he assured her. “Content.”

  She made a clicking sound in her throat signifying approval. “It’s clear our new friend is the master of many surprising talents—even if fixing its own leg is not one of them.”

  “Actually,” he told her, “I can do that, too. But in order to do so properly I need a place to rest.”

  “Of course, of course!” Ebbanai hastened toward the propped-open double doors. “In our amazement we forget ourselves, Storra. Come into our home, Flinx, and partake of my family’s hospitality.”

  The dome house was surprisingly well decorated, full of carvings and attractive weavings that made good use of local colors and materials. It was also notably, almost shockingly, devoid of furnishings.

  A mite bewildered, Flinx noted the paucity of furniture. “I don’t see any chairs or benches. Where do you sit?”

  “Sit?” Mate and mate looked at each other before returning their attention to their guest. “What is sit?”

  This was an aspect of Dwarran culture the Teacher had neglected to expound upon, Flinx observed. Come to think of it, from the moment he had set eyes on them, he had not seen either of the natives sit down. Instead, their upper torsos sank down into the lower portions of their bodies, which were appropriately wide enough to receive them. Supported by a quartet of forelegs, it was evident that they did not need to sit down. At least, not in the human sense. He wondered if they were physiologically capable of it. Instructively, the house was destitute of furniture for the purpose. There were no chairs, no couches, not even a lounge. He began to wonder what position they used for sleeping.

  “Well, in order to work on my leg, I need to sit down.” He proceeded to explain what was required.

  Did the alien’s legs tire so easily that they could no longer support it? Ebbanai mused. The absence of furniture specifically designed for the human’s need was not a problem. A family wooden chest carved with rough bas-reliefs served the purpose admirably. Openmouthed, he and Storra looked on in fascination as the visitor actually bent its body in the middle and rested it on the chest. Such remarkable flexibility in one so bulky, she marveled, had to be seen to be believed.

  Opening a pouch on his service belt, Flinx removed a small tube, unsealed it, and squeezed a little of the ointment it contained onto his open palm. Pip’s tongue immediately darted in its direction, and he had to use his other hand to push her head back toward his shoulder. Peeling down the top of the boot on his right foot, he applied the ointment to the swollen, slightly reddened flesh. Immediately, his injured ankle was suffused with a soothing warmth. A couple of applications should restore the stressed spot to normal, he felt.

  Meanwhile, he would try to relax and learn as much as he could about his hosts before it was time to take his leave of them. Thankfully, except for their understandably roiled emotions, all was quiet within him as well as without.

  “You’re quite isolated here, I see,” he murmured into the translator’s pickup.

  “Oh no.” Storra hastened to correct him. “We have many near neighbors. This is a productive fishing and growing area, well-populated.” Her Sensitives dipped toward him but did not make contact. “Because Ebbanai’s ancestors were among the last to settle this peninsula, our home is the farthest out. But between here and Metrel City there are many hundreds of homesteads and several small villages.”

  That was not possible, Flinx reflected. No matter the world, if it was inhabited by sentients capable of a minimum of cognitive thought, their projected feelings invariably found him smothered beneath an unending torrent of emotion. Struggling to ignore that constant emotional pressure was one of the hardest things he had to do in life. It was why he did not mind spending so much time traveling between worlds. Only in the vastness of interstellar space could his mind be fully at ease, free from the interminable storms of love, hatred, desire, lust, fear, uncertainty, and all the other emotions intelligence was heir to. Once down on an inhabited world it was a constant battle to keep that emotive babble pushed sufficiently far into the background just so he could retain his sanity. Less complex animalistic emotions he was able to ignore.

  Sensing the uncertainty and concern and emotions of only his two hosts, he had naturally assumed he had set down in a sparsely inhabited area. Now they insisted the reality was otherwise. Could there be more to the local mental state of affairs than first appeared? Carefully, he reached out with his Talent; seeking, searching.

  There—another set of emotions. And there another. And another. Storra was being truthful. Yet when he closed down his perceptive ability, the other individual emotive projections disappeared. And not only them. He found he could shut out the feelings he was receiving from his hosts as well.

  As far back as he could remember, he had been able to read the emotions of others—whether he wanted to or not. In cities, he sometimes had to resort to music or other forms of continuous noise just to gain some relief from the emotional cacophony by overriding it with something else capable of holding his attention. Over the last few years, he had discovered that he had within him the ability to project emotions onto others.

  But this was the first time, and the first place, ever, where he had been able to completely shut them out.

  He sat there dazed, like a man who has just found he can turn his sense of hearing on and off at will. As his Dwarran hosts eyed him uncertainly, he practiced alternately perceiving with and then shutting his Talent down. One moment their emotions were there, clear and sharp in his mind as if he were studying words carved in stone. The next, with minimal effort on his part, all was silent. Silent, and quiet. A type of quiet he had never experienced before in his life.

  He wanted to cry out with delight.

  On his shoulder, an Alaspinian minidrag wondered at the rush of buoyant emotion that was surging through her master. She began a curious and ultimately futile search for its cause.

  “Are you all right?” The radical shift of expression on the alien’s face alarmed Storra.

  “I—I’m fine. Remarkably well, I think. It seems that this world, and your—kind—are full of surprises.”

  Ebbanai felt pleased without knowing quite why. “We’re happy you find your surroundings agreeable. Hospitality is a hallmark of my family.”

  Rubbing another daub of ointment into his ankle, Flinx looked up at the angular, big-eyed Dwarra. “You have no idea how hospitable I’m finding it. Maybe before I leave I’ll find a way to explain why.”

  Ebbanai glanced at his mate, then back to the alien. “Surely you need not rush away. You have questions for us, but we also have some for you.”

  Flinx was immediately on guard. While he had already violated the strictures governing contact with inhabitants of Class IVb worlds, he fully intended to minimize the damage by telling them as little as possible about himself, the Commonwealth, and its technology. He supposed he owed this particular couple a few answers in return for their help, even if he would have been quite capable of surviving his injury without their intercession.

  But he would keep any replies to their queries as simple and harmless as possible.

  It was hard to restrain his elation. If Storra was being truthful, there were within reception range of his Talent dozens, perhaps hundreds, of fully aware minds constantly generating all manner of emotions. And he was, almost without conscious effort, shutting them out. He was among emotives, but his consciousness was at peace. He luxuriated in the remarkableness of it.

  Different neural pathways, he thought. The Dwarra were wired differently from any sentient species he had yet encountered. Just enough to allow him to have some peace. Barring any sudden and unexpected changes, here was an intelligent folk among whom he could spend time without having to constantly guard against the uninvited intrusion of distressing emotions. Yet whenever he wished to do so, he could apparently access them with the same ease as he did those of other sentients. And there was something else. It had b
een nagging at him ever since he had first stepped out of the Teacher to inspect its external camouflaging and his new surroundings.

  He had not experienced even a suggestion of a headache.

  His constant companion since childhood, they were always worse on civilized worlds, festering inside him until they exploded in pain that nowadays was sometimes severe enough to incapacitate him. During his recent visit to Goldin IV, one such attack had put him in a dangerous coma. Since arriving on Arrawd, even the familiar faint throbbing he normally experienced in the company of other sentients had vanished.

  His mind was not cured—but it was at peace.

  Among the gear that filled out the belt around his waist was a medipak crammed with all manner of medications designed to alleviate his recurring cerebral pains. Glancing in its direction, he eyed it as if he had a sleeping taipan snaked around his waist. Not his waist, he corrected himself, adjusting the metaphor. His head. But his mind was easy, the genetically altered neurological processes that alternately thrilled and tormented him presently tranquil. Had he finally, accidentally, stumbled upon that which he thought he would never find? An inhabited world full of expressive, thinking beings whose emotions he could perceive or ignore at will, without existing in continual fear of being overwhelmed by them? And if the corollary was a cessation of his tormenting headaches...

  He dared not think about it too much lest a sardonic Fate suddenly decide to prove him wrong. He smiled inwardly. Thinking too hard on the subject might—give him a headache.

  “You’re sure you are well? You squat so still and silent.” Storra was eyeing him evenly—but the emotion she was feeling was one of honest compassion. He knew that for a fact, and smiled.

  “I’m fine,” he told her via the translator. “In fact, I haven’t felt this good in years.”

  Ebbanai puckered his round mouth and exuded satisfaction. “This is a healthy place,” he affirmed, innocent of the reasons behind his guest’s declaration. “Much better for the body than the town or the city.”

  “My mate is all country at soul,” Storra confirmed. “If you are then feeling good, could you answer some questions for us?” She glanced over at her mate. “Both Ebbanai and I have queries that burn within us.”

  Flinx nodded. “I’ll answer what I can,” he told her guardedly, “as best I can. And in turn, you can answer some additional questions for me. I’m going to try to learn something of your language, so be patient with me.”

  Despite all the evidence of its technological prowess, Ebbanai saw, the alien was not domineering, nor did it choose to act toward them in a superior manner. That was promising. If only they could find ways to keep it from leaving as soon as its leg was healed. Language instruction might be one way.

  It certainly put a new twist on the old adage that he who speaks slowly is the one who stands to learn the most.

  CHAPTER

  5

  When it came to learning languages, Flinx had two advantages. His travels had exposed him to a great many varieties of communication, including some that were only borderline verbal, and the ability to read the emotional outpourings of others allowed him to understand the substance of a phrase even as he struggled to reproduce it aloud. Under Ebbanai and Storra’s kindly tutelage, he made impressive progress.

  His hosts, of course, were astonished at his facility—as they were by other abilities of their guest that were only gradually revealed. For example, so rapidly did his injured ankle recover that one could practically see it healing. As his leg became stronger, their guest began to demonstrate physical abilities that were commensurate with his mental talents.

  On the day before he had indicated he was going to return to his machine, which was truly a vessel for traveling between worlds, he tested his leg by taking a short run around the homestead. With his flying pet accompanying him all the way, the alien covered ground with bounding strides of such length that his hosts were left staring in stunned disbelief. Fences that would have stymied even Ebbanai’s athletic neighbor Tebenrd were cleared with ease. Breathing effortlessly, the alien even tried to jump over the house. He did not make it, sliding down its curving flanks while laughing loudly to himself, but he came nearer accomplishing the seemingly impossible feat than could any Dwarra.

  “It’s because the gravity is stronger on the world where I matured than it is on Arrawd,” he explained yet one more time to his awestruck hosts.

  “That expression again.” For a second time Storra struggled with the untranslatable term, which clearly had as much to do with the matter of weight as it did with the weight of matter, but which she did not understand. If this “gravity” forced the alien to become heavier, then how was it he could move about more easily on Arrawd? Shouldn’t the opposite be the case? Though she prided herself on her intelligence, clearly there was some alien concept here that would require much mental struggling to properly comprehend. She was determined to manage it, however, as was Ebbanai.

  Understanding would require a greater effort on the part of her mate. Ebbanai was a fine, upstanding, devoted male, but in matters involving mental as opposed to physical resolution, he tended to leave the decision making to her. That only showed how smart he really was. There is no greater sign of high intelligence than realizing that another person is cleverer than you, and having the strength of character to rely and act on their opinion.

  So she was reasonably confident of convincing him of the course of action they needed to take when she confronted him in the baryeln barn later that afternoon. The alien was out studying vermin in the verdure, an activity she found revolting as well as pointless. Still, she made an effort to understand the why of it. Comprehending the alien’s motivations was vital to her intentions.

  “Flinx says its leg is almost fully healed and that it intends to leave us tomorrow morning.”

  Her mate looked up from where he was tapping imv-nine, their second-best producer. The mature baryeln stood quietly as the sweet, high-protein, glucose-rich fluid it secreted upon external stimulation flowed glutinously into several dozen waiting catchments.

  “I know. A shame, really.”

  “It need not be.” She did not lower her voice. The alien had many abilities, but it had already demonstrated that its hearing was not exceptional. Whether it could detect at such a distance what she was feeling at the moment, she did not know. She could only try to control her emotions and hope that her true feelings were passing unnoticed. Moving closer, she entwined Sensitives with Ebbanai’s so that he would know exactly what was going through her as she spoke.

  “I don’t understand.” This close together, Sensitives locked, he had nowhere to look but into her eyes.

  “If we are to gain anything from our acquaintance with this visitor, we must find a way to make it remain among us.” Behind them the indifferent, placid baryeln continued its consumption of silage and secreting of gryln, its complex internal organs turning the harvested one into the profitable other.

  Ebbanai’s eyes contracted slightly, indicative of skepticism. “And how are we to do that?” He looked suddenly alarmed. “You cannot be thinking of restraining the alien by force! Surely it possesses advanced means of harming as well as of healing.”

  She gestured with all eight gripping flanges. “Of what use would it be to us even if we could somehow take it and hold it prisoner? To make use of the alien, we need its willing cooperation. An attempt to forcibly detain it would only have the opposite affect.”

  Ebbanai’s eyes contracted until they were reduced in their sockets to the size of marbles. “Then how can we possibly manage to obtain both its continued presence and its cooperation?”

  Storra’s mouth expanded in the Dwarran equivalent of a smile. “By throwing our humble selves on its mercy and appealing to its instincts as a greatly superior being.”

  Her mate remained unconvinced. “I don’t see how that will be sufficient to convince it to stay with us.”

  “It will, when we beg it to help with yo
ur injury.”

  “My injury?” Ebbanai’s uncertainty increased. “But I am not... oh. I see. I will fake an injury, and we will appeal to the alien to help us as we helped it.”

  “Not exactly.” She spoke slowly, methodically, so he would be sure to understand and so that she would not have to pause to correct any misconceptions. Keeping their Sensitives entwined helped. “Remember that the alien can read our emotions as if they were an open book. It would instantly detect any attempt at propounding such a thorough falsehood. Any pain of injury cannot be faked. It must be real. Your suffering must be genuine, the damage perceptible, or this subterfuge will not work.”

  He twitched one pair of arms. “Yes, you’re right, Storra. As always. I see that it has to be that way. One question.” His eyes met those of his mate. “Why me?”

  Anticipating the query—she would have thought less of her mate had he failed to ask it—she had readied an answer. “While one of us is laid up, the other will be busy working to make use of the accident. We both know which of us would be the better at that.” When Ebbanai did not disagree, she continued. “Also, since you were the first to encounter the alien, I believe it may feel more responsible for anything you may suffer as a consequence of its presence among us than it would if I was the unfortunate one.”

  Her mate pondered the prospect for another moment before reluctantly conceding his concurrence. “Very well, Storra. I will suffer the injury.” He hesitated. “Looking always ahead, I assume you have something already in mind. Something that will be convincing but hopefully not too painful?”

  “Not if it is executed properly,” she told him.

  He did not sound entirely assured. “I wish you would have chosen another way of putting it.”

  They were in the barn examining the baryeln. Their visitor had expressed an interest in learning more about the animals that supplied so much nutrition in such a peculiar manner, and Ebbanai had agreed to further enlighten him. Storra remained behind, in the house, while her mate gave the alien a thorough explanation of baryeln anatomy and history.